


Emerald

by heartswells



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Blood Drinking, CNC, Dubious Consent, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Kink, S&M, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 20:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13325964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartswells/pseuds/heartswells
Summary: “Dolan, as usual,” Ian directed, before slamming a cider bottle on the edge of the coffee table.





	Emerald

Max’s careless curls lolled across Ian’s jeans as he rested his cheek against his knee, looking up at Ian apprehensively from where he kneeled between Ian’s legs.

 

“Dolan, as usual,” Ian directed, before slamming a cider bottle on the edge of the coffee table. The glass shattered, exploding around him in wicked shards and a torrent of liquid that turned the floor to chaos.

 

“Pick,” Ian commanded.

 

Max hesitated. _Pick what I cut you with._ Ian’s cruelty was nauseating, his tongue and his vindictiveness sharper than every deadly shard on the floor. Gingerly, Ian traced his jaw, both comfortingly and maliciously, before pinching his chin and turning him to look at the array of shards splattered over the floor. Max closed his eyes and grabbed randomly.

 

“Perfect,” Ian purred, roughly tapping Max’s cheek with his hand and prompting him to open his eyes and behold the piece. The shard fit gorgeously in Ian’s fingers, a shimmering emerald promise of pain.

 

“Take your shirt off,” Ian commanded. Max complied, eyes frozen on Ian’s hands and the shard.

 

“Up,” Ian prompted, almost impatiently, tugging Max’s arms and directing him to straddle his lap.

 

Ian’s finger traced directly below Max’s collarbone, following the ridge and teasing the soft skin. He paused, seeking Max’s permission.

 

Ian placed the shard at the very start of Max’s left collarbone and pushed hard, allowing it to pierce the skin, centering the pain in one place. And then he dragged the shard, digging the thick glass in and tearing the flesh with agonizing slowness and deliberation.

 

Ian cut deeply, pressing harshly and ripping the skin messily with the awkward, bulky shape of the glass. It was a gash that was drawn like a cigarette drag, a long slow inhale of sharpness and a long languid exhale of blood.

 

The cut gushed blood from its mouth like saliva in long, sticky crimson oozes that trickled down his chest and soaked the hem of clothing at his waist. Max trembled, shaking with the strain of attempting to control his body’s vehement reaction to his pain. His hands quivered, fists curling into Ian’s sides, seeking comfort as his eyes welled and his lungs were racked with sobs. It was the slowness that tormented him, the terrible elongation of the pain that made him feel as if he could hear the skin ripping and the blood flowing.

 

Before he could register the glass being pulled from his skin, he felt Ian and his stinging kiss. His soft lips messily suckled along the gash, smearing saliva into the cut in a messy goo, sucking out the salty sustenance with hunger, and indulging in the warm softness of his swollen flesh with fervor. Max squirmed, caught between the horrific pain and the gorgeous, euphoric sensation of Ian’s lips.

 

It was an incomprehensible sensation. Ian sucked his cut like a cock. He sucked with ardor, absorbing the flavor and tenderness like an addictive poison, nipping at the edges of the laceration to make Max sob and cleaning him of blood like an artist. His hands dug into Max’s ribs in eagerness, pulling him closer as Max tossed his head back, oscillating between the pleasure and the pain.

 

Max suddenly felt Ian pushing the glass shard into his hand.

 

“Do it yourself,” Ian demanded, but it was lust rather than cruelty. He wanted to watch, wanted to see Max slide the shard through his skin like a voyeur.

 

Max looked at him helplessly, his lips swollen from digging his teeth into them and muffling his screaming, and his desperate wet doe eyes begging for guidance.

 

“Here.” Ian took Max’s hand and brought the shard to his side.

 

“Up,” he commanded, beginning to drag the shard up Max’s side with his own hand.

 

“Deeper,” he demanded when he released Max’s hand from his grip, and Max faltered.

 

Max was gorgeous, trembling with violence, gasping and sobbing, drenched in pain. The shard shook in his hand as if it was alive, and though Max cut shallowly, he still painted a beautiful line that salivated a hedonic crimson.

 

Ian knocked the shard out of Max’s hand, sending it clattering among the other shards on the ground, and smeared his fingers along the gash, tracing the gaping mouth and smearing the blood with the fascination of a child. He smeared Max’s blood with hunger, creating a sticky, rusty mess, forcing Max to convulse with sobs as his pain was expended like a whore.

 

“Gorgeous,” Ian breathed, shoving blood soaked fingers in Max’s mouth and painting his lips rosy.

 

“Suck,” he growled when Max gagged.

 

Ian pulled Max’s hips closer, crushing himself with Max’s weight as he ripped open their jeans and attempted to fist their cocks together. It was a sloppy hold, his fingers greased with saliva, but in his craze of lust, even the messy, inconsistent, awkward pattern of pleasure felt euphoric. Max whined, and they became a chaotic flurry of sweat and blood.

 

Ian finished first, his lust overcharged from the hedonism of Max’s reflection. He came down lazily, slowly pumping Max and running a hand through Max’s curls. Max rested his head against Ian’s shoulder, the sting of his injuries throbbing in sync with the waves of pleasure from Ian’s fist. He came is an over-exhausted state, feeling his orgasm in a low, heated, intense pleasure, like a wet dream in the early morning. He stayed, his chest heaving, with his face nestled in the crook of Ian’s neck, inhaling the thick scent of his lust and sweat. It was warm and tender, Ian cooing to him, praising him, a swirling sensation of love and pain and lust.

 

Max whimpered when Ian moved, having no desire to leave the tenderness of his snuggled position.

 

“We need to clean those, dear.”


End file.
